


Unanticipated

by GingerBreton



Series: Then I Met You [8]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: 'The Disappearing Act' side quest, Alcohol, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Crime Scenes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, Humor, Light Angst, Murder, New Relationship, Panic Attacks, Secret Relationship, be warned, drug overdose, past domestic violence - briefly mentioned, sole survivor is not nate/nora, spot the egg, they are being extremely cute but they are about to have a horrible day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/pseuds/GingerBreton
Summary: 211 years ago to the day, Ivy could remember sitting crossed-legged on the end of the diner counter, her hands still stinging from carrying hot plates, a novel resting in her lap.The coffee buzzing through her veins was the only thing that’d kept her on her feet through a busy, but now dead, Christmas shift.  Sat in the comfortable warmth of the diner, surrounded by the smells of grease, leftover turkey and old coffee, she’d absorbed page-upon-page of the grisly crime novel cradled in her lap; imagined the characters in all their glorious cliche, painted scenes in her mind that sent chills through her blood.  Enjoying the safe horror of it all, secure in the knowledge that behind her paper barrier, none of it was real.But this wasn’t like that at all. There were no paper barriers between her and that world. Standing in that damp cellar, surrounded by the stench of death with a pipe pistol pointed at her face, she felt anything but safe horror.
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Then I Met You [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813063
Comments: 11
Kudos: 14





	Unanticipated

**Author's Note:**

> Quick content warning:
> 
> This story covers 'The Disappearing Act' side quest and everything that entails.  
> It also contains some brief but blunt references to Ivy's relationship with her violent ex.  
> All the nastier bits warned of in the tags--barring the panic attack, which occurs right after--happen within the cellar. If you want to avoid that bit then when they get to the Mega Surgery you can just skip forward to the next page break. I'll pop a super brief summary of what happened in the cellar in the end notes

211 years ago to the day, Ivy could remember sitting crossed-legged on the end of the diner counter, her hands still stinging from carrying hot plates, a novel resting in her lap.

The coffee buzzing through her veins was the only thing that’d kept her on her feet through a busy, but now dead, Christmas shift. Sat in the comfortable warmth of the diner, surrounded by the smells of grease, leftover turkey and old coffee, she’d absorbed page-upon-page of the grisly crime novel cradled in her lap; imagined the characters in all their glorious cliche, painted scenes in her mind that sent chills through her blood. Enjoying the safe horror of it all, secure in the knowledge that behind her paper barrier, none of it was real.

But this wasn’t like that at all. There were no paper barriers between her and that world. Standing in that damp cellar, surrounded by the stench of death with a pipe pistol pointed at her face, she felt anything but safe horror.

* * *

Ivy balanced halfheartedly, arms out to steady herself, boots squeaking on the slick metal of the railroad tracks as they headed north towards the river. Winter had chosen to be more picturesque that morning. They would be gifted with clear skies to compliment the jewel-like frost once the sun burned off the last of the morning mist.

Behind her, the fading rhythmic knock of hammers working on Oberland Station’s new defences chimed in Christmas morning.

MacCready skulked at her side. The close quarters of the settlement had left him moody, drifting into old habits of snarking at anyone who got near him—as if that’d stop her noticing how his scowl slipped into misery whenever he thought nobody saw, his hand loosely clutching his breast pocket each time he did.

As for Ivy, she’d been left with too much time to think—teetering on the precipice of memories of all the things, and of all the people, she’d never see again. The merry christmas she’d bid the settlers that morning felt awfully hollow, no matter how expertly she gilded a smile.

They were about halfway to Beantown, the snaking form of an abandoned train looming into view on the horizon when she felt her partner’s eyes on her. Deep in the shadows of his hat she could make out a thoughtful furrow to his brow—not that he gave her much time to register it. A broad hand clamped around her extended wrist—her balance utterly thrown—and with a snicker at her startled yelp, MacCready darted sideways, dragging her with him down the embankment headed east.

“Where are we going?” Ivy squealed, heels skidding on the icy hill as she fought to keep her balance, dragged at a pace by her mercenary.

“Diamond City.”

“What about Sanctuary?”

MacCready turned to her as she slipped to the bottom of the slope. “You want to spend Christmas traipsing halfway across the Commonwealth?” His smirk slid back into place right about the time Ivy slid into him. “Because I don’t. And before you get that look on your face, just trust me, would you?”

* * *

An hour or so later the trees parted and they found themselves crunching through thick hoar frost along the banks of the Charles. Cool winter sunlight glinted like steel off the frozen river surface. The sky was clear and the temperature bitter, but at least it was dry—a welcome reprieve from the freezing rain that kept coating the ‘wealth in picturesque but traitorous sheaths of ice.

MacCready left his rifle on his back in favour of the pistol gripped tightly in his left hand. His mood had brightened enough that he was back to leaning into Ivy’s ear to brag that he could, _of course_ , shoot with either hand.

“Blindfolded, backwards, upside-down _and_ under water. All at once. Yes I get it, you’re superman.” Ivy rolled her eyes. But it was good to have him talking again.

And it was even better to have some privacy for the first time in days.

MacCready’s other hand still had hold of hers. It was delightfully warm against a cold that was tinging her fingertips blue. Every so often he’d absentmindedly lift her hand to his lips and breath some life back into her chilled fingers.

All the while he never took his eyes off their surroundings.

And all the while Ivy struggled to take her eyes off him.

“Does it get this cold every year?” she mused when she eventually dragged her gaze away from her partner, settling it on the frozen Charles instead.

Not that it didn't get bitterly cold before the war, but the living city with its cars and its people and all manner of wildlife had always kept the area wrapped in a pocket of warmth. These kinds of pristine scenes would’ve never lasted long into the morning commute.

“I can’t remember seeing the river frozen over like this while I lived here.”

It was usually Mac who compulsively filled silences with whatever thoughts drifted into his head, but Ivy was curious and her mood was significantly buoyed by the beautiful scene around them.

Wandering down to the banks, Ivy leaned at the full extent of MacCready’s reach—his hand held tight around her wrist, except for those moments where he smirked and loosed his grip for a second only to catch her again, just to hear her half-scream a curse then dissolve into laughter.

When MacCready deigned to hold her properly, she crept forward again, delicately tapping a foot on the creaking ice but never putting her weight through it. The water burbled and pushed beneath the frozen surface as it dipped under her touch.

“Do you think there are still fish in there? Or are the fish all mutated too? I haven’t seen any since I woke up,” she asked no one in particular.

“Only thing you’ll catch in there is your death. Or mirelurks,” he chuckled.

Ivy slipped her hand from MacCready’s, leaving him to smoke the cigarette he’d grumbled about wanting, while she wandered the riverbank further. Crouching, she skimmed some small stones out across the surface of the ice. One-by-one they slipped into the water with barely a sound where the ice thinned to nothing towards the centre of the river.

MacCready watched her. An indulgent smile toyed the edge of his lips, not that he seemed to want to let on to her - he just rolled his eyes theatrically whenever she glanced his way. He settled himself against a large rock, legs apart, rocking idly back on his heels. Once Ivy had exhausted her supply of suitably sized pebbles, MacCready beckoned her over with a lazy curl of his finger.

“Did you see someone?”

“No?” 

In truth she hadn’t been looking—a foolish misstep in the wasteland, but she’d let the morning’s distractions trick her into treating this like a winter’s day two hundred years ago.

“Good.”

MacCready dragged her close, stealing Ivy’s startled laughter with a press of his lips to hers as she stumbled into the space between his legs. His fingers wound their way into her hair—in a way that was quickly becoming habit—finding the back of her head and pulling her closer still. She could worry about the knots later, it wasn’t as if anyone was around to see them.

To hell with it—it’d been days since they’d stolen a moment like this. Ivy threw caution to the wind and tucked her pistol away, letting herself melt into the kiss, her arms wrapped around MacCready’s neck.

“I can’t stand settlements,” MacCready groused when they parted. His bright blue eyes skimmed over her features while his fingers worked to tame the mess he’d made of her hair. “Never get you to myself.”

He wasn’t wrong. They’d been at Oberland Station for days putting up defences in case the Gunners decided to come calling. In all that time she’d managed to get her hands on him maybe once - they’d almost been caught trying to grab a moment a dozen more times than that.

“Well we’re free now,” Ivy beamed, trailing kisses along Mac’s jaw until a thought struck her.

“I hope after this detour we actually have somewhere to stay tonight, because if they’re full I'm stopping with Piper.” Ivy stepped back, vividly remembering their last night in Diamond City. “You can put up with Vadim’s snoring on your own.”

Mac’s eyes—which had slipped shut with a contented sigh when Ivy’s lips had found the pulse point just below his jaw—sprang open. 

“You’d really just abandon me, angel?” He turned a hurt pout on her, poking the brim of his hat up to lend those big blue puppy-dog eyes their full effect.

“You better believe it, tiger. Now get a wriggle on.” Now it was her turn to drag him along. “Or it’ll be dark by the time we get there.”

* * *

The night of their first kiss had been cut unceremoniously short. The pair had stumbled into the Dugout—soaked, flushed and trying to act like they hadn’t finally got their hands on each after weeks of dancing around the point—only to find the whole place full.

“MacCready,” Vadim had chortled, clapping his hands on either side of the younger man’s face. “When we heard you were going after Gunners”—a fact the nosy bartender could only have gleaned by listening in on Ivy’s rather loose-lipped conversation with Piper—“we figured there was, eh, maybe a 50/50 chance you’d survive.” He laughed heartily, slapping the fuming mercenary on the back. “Do not be angry, my friend. I have a plan.”

And so _her_ preferred plans for the evening went up in smoke. No chance of finding herself pleasantly tipsy on something better than bathtub moonshine, lovingly, or at least enthusiastically stripped of her soaking clothes and finding out firsthand if her smartmouthed mercenary wasn’t just all talk.

Instead, she’d woken up on Vadim’s lumpy sofa the next morning with a crick in her neck and a personal thundercloud rumbling over her head. MacCready lay on the floor so stiffly you’d think he’d been embalmed—arms folded over his chest, he glared moodily at the ceiling. And on the bed in the corner lay Vadim himself, snoring as loudly as he talked.

It was less than ideal.

* * *

Perhaps complaining they’d not get there until dark had been an exaggeration, but the sun was low in the sky as Ivy and MacCready left the Fens and headed towards the looming walls of Diamond City. Wispy cloud cover had done nothing to stave off the chill. In the lengthening shadows of the surrounding buildings, Ivy’s breath clouded thick as cigarette smoke in the frosty air.

The loose grip that’d held their hands together between Oberland and Boston slipped apart as soon as they hit the patrol routes of Diamond City security. Ivy knew too well how fast the wheels of that rumour mill turned and how quickly loose lips delivered gossip to the ears of the likes of Piper or Vadim. And from there to anyone else who cared to crow, tease or judge the new development between her and MacCready.

They holstered their pistols and nodded to Danny and the small gaggle of security guards hovering around his counter as they passed through the gates and headed on up the steps into Diamond City.

As soon as they were out of sight Mac’s hand covered Ivy’s eyes.

“What are you--”

“I _told_ you to trust me.” MacCready snickered by her ear, guiding her to the handrail so she could steady herself.

The stairs flattened out as they emerged from the cover of the tunnel. Ivy gripped the handrail tighter, her feet skillfully finding every patch of ice that had begun to thaw just in time to freeze again.

Funny how flocks of lawn flamingos could weather a nuclear apocalypse but one ‘wet floor’ sign remaining in the whole of Massachusetts was too much to ask.

MacCready pulled his hand away. “Ok, you can open them.”

Ivy blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light.

Spread out before her were the shops, stalls and homes of the commonwealth’s largest settlement. Frost still painted the ridges of corrugated rooftops white, sparkling on the highest tiers of the stands where the last of the winter sun could reach.

Within the bowl of Diamond City the sun never lasted long this time of year, but today the usually shadowed alleys dotted with the flicker of neon signs around the marketplace were strung with lights. Beads of vivid primary colours were draped between shops and houses, wound up handrail, and wrapped around signs. Tatty artificial trees strewn with lights of their own were strapped precariously to rooftops—relying on the shelter of Diamond City’s tall walls to stop a stiff breeze knocking them down onto any unsuspecting shoppers who dared to walk below them.

Something between a gasp and laugh escaped Ivy’s chest, stifled by her cold fingers covering her mouth.

“I can’t believe it…”

“What do you think?” MacCready asked sheepishly. His fingertips lightly brushed the small of her back—ready to whip them away at the first sign of prying eyes. “It’s kinda dorky but you like that kinda thing, right?

“They still do this? After two hundred years?”

Ivy grinned.

She grinned at sparkling lights, she grinned at the bargain basement trees that had long outlasted even the most optimistic vendors warranty, and she grinned at the smile tugging on the corner of Mac’s mouth even when he tried to look unimpressed.

“I _love_ it.”

Head thoroughly caught in the clouds—a lifelong hazard of hers, despite every new danger in the wasteland—Ivy was ever the distracted kind of clumsy. Stepping forwards, the well worn tread of her boots failed to find purchase while her eyes were too busy following the strings of lights and not paying attention to the patches of ice which glazed the stairs. Skittering on the traitorous surface she gasped, arms grabbing out for anything to steady herself on but she’d strayed too far from the railings.

Just as she resigned herself to going arse-over-tit, a familiar arm wrapped itself around her waist. A mock-judgemental sigh ruffled her hair when her shoulderblades bumped back into MacCready’s chest.

“Look at you,” he cooed. “Like a baby radstag.”

Ivy didn’t have to see his face to know the smirk he wore as his arm wound tighter around her waist.

“Oh, aren’t we smug.” She rolled her eyes, sinking her head back onto his shoulder to confirm his exasperating expression.

“We can’t all be this agile. It takes years of honing your senses to know your footing without even look—”

Ivy’s world flipped horizontal as MacCready’s legs disappeared out from under him, dragging them both down to meet the frozen metal steps with a painful thump.

“Fuh— my frickin’ ass,” Mac groused under his breath, rocking onto one hip beneath where she’d landed unceremoniously in his lap—and in doing so jammed enough .308 rounds into the back of her thigh to floor a behemoth.

“You have the grace of a dancer,” Ivy snorted once she’d got her winded breath back. “No really, you’re like fred astaire reborn. Teach me your ways.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Falling for me so soon?”

The stranger’s voice cut in just as the graze of stubble against her neck was about to turn into a rather promising trail of kisses.

A chuckle came from the tunnel entrance behind them where a security guard leant, arms folded, against the wall. The man lowered his tinted lenses just enough that Ivy caught the glint of steely blue eyes. And just enough that she couldn’t miss the wink he fired her way.

“I’m flattered. Truly,” he snerked, pushing off the wall and swaggering past them down the stairs. “But I’m afraid I’m simply married to my work.”

_Smooth bastard._

The guy even managed to pass off the ground slipping under his sneakers as a jaunty little spring in his step as he strutted out into the marketplace.

“Jackass,” Mac muttered somewhere behind her head—still trying to rub some life back into his butt.

* * *

Ivy looked up at the unlit sign for the Mega Surgery.

Playing detective wasn’t exactly how she’d expected to spend Christmas Day. But a favour, the promise of caps and the chance for MacCready to make ‘private dick’ jokes to his heart's content had led them here, in search of the missing Earl Sterling.

They just needed to close this one last line of enquiry then back to the Dugout for drinks.

Anyway, if Mac was right, Earl was probably just off in Goodneighbor with a new nose and somebody else’s wife.

The outer clinic was dark. Ivy flicked on her pip-boy light, the green glow illuminating the chem stations and locked cabinets of the area where Diamond City’s surgeons plied their more superficial trade—a stimpak here, addictol there, the things that could be dealt with in a moment. She gripped the cellar key tightly, Dr Sun had been reluctant enough to hand it over and the last thing she wanted to do was lose it in the dark.

In the far corner, tucked out of sight around even more cabinets was a metal hatch, barely visible at the extent of where the green torchlight shone. MacCready caught her wrist as they approached.

“I don’t like the look of this.”

All the humour from their previous joking was stripped from his voice. His lips drew a tight line to match the new furrow creasing his brow. MacCready tapped his foot on the ground ahead of them, drawing Ivy’s attention down to the floor where a dark smear had been poorly wiped away from the ground by the hatch.

The noise from the marketplace seemed to dull as a discomfort settled over her. They’d come here looking for nothing more sinister than records but Mac was right, something was very wrong here.

Her pulse thrummed steadily faster as the keys clicked in the lock. Ivy carefully stifled the creak of the hinges as she lifted the cellar hatch. Switching off her torch, she stepped down onto the ladder before MacCready had a chance to protest.

She was barely halfway down when the smell hit her, making her retch so suddenly she nearly lost her grip. The air was thick with the sickly perfume of rot. It lay across everything—it settled in her pores and in her hair, and coated her lungs with every breath.

Deep within the space behind her, a voice reached her ears. A sing-song muttering that seemed horribly familiar. She spun as soon as her feet hit the ground, taking in the low lit room which resembled a hollowed out cave more than a cellar.

Cabinets and boxes lined the damp, stony walls—the supplies Dr Sun so adamantly threatened that they had to buy if they broke—but her eye was drawn to the centre of the room. To the large table smeared with the same dark stains as the ground around the hatch. Dark stains which had oozed from the table onto the floor.

Ivy glanced at her hands—rust-red stained her skin where she’d clutched the ladder’s rungs. She choked back her rising nausea.

Blood. It was all blood.

Nerves suddenly screaming, her eyes snapped to movement at the far end of the cellar.

Now she knew why she recognised that voice.

The hunched form of Doc Crocker leant over a workbench, his hands busily working at something. He was talking, but not to her. There was someone huddled in the corner.

Had they found Earl after all? 

Her heartbeat began to race, like her body knew nothing good could come of this long before her mind was willing to accept it. Ivy crept forward to get a better look—she had to know. The green light of her pip-boy flashed on, casting a sickly glow on the corner.

Ivy heaved.

Whatever was in that corner was not a person. _Not anymore_.

Slumped in the corner was a bloated torso. The good doctor had slipped long passed the reaches of sanity as he scolded the corpse—which had long since been deprived of its limbs and head—for _‘being a handful’_.

She could only assume they’d found Earl Sterling.

Ivy retched again, staggering backwards, unable to put her hands to her mouth or cover her nose from the putrid stench because of the blood which stained her skin. Blood that had come from that thing on the floor.

Crocker’s attention was focused on her now, wittering that she shouldn’t be there, but she could barely drag her eyes away from the corpse.

It made no sense that this of all things should affect her so. Her months since escaping the vault had been filled with horrors—with mutants and gore bags and ferals and even raiders displaying bodies like trophies—but somewhere deep in her mind none of that truly felt real. Not like this. This was a side of humanity pulled straight from the past. The whole world had changed but old monsters stayed the same.

The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips—a mistake, the air tasted rancid and she had to choked back the bile rising in her throat before she could form the words she wanted to say. 

“Doctor… is that Earl Sterling?”

She picked her words carefully, respectfully, like she was negotiating a glass strewn floor barefoot. Her horrified gaze moved from ‘Earl’ to Crocker, darting between the pipe pistol pointed at her head and his face.

Instead of meeting his eye, all she could do was stare at the dull reflection of herself—pale and terrified—in his goggles.

There was no time to reach for her own gun, any sudden movements and the man’s fingers - jittery from the jet Piper had joked about so recently—would pull the trigger and that would be the end of her—a second corpse to be disposed of in this dank basement. All she could do was raise her trembling hands as carefully as she spoke.

Behind her shoulder she heard MacCready ease the safety off his 10mm. She’d forgotten he was there, too trapped by the scene in front of her to register the disgusted curse he’d spat when she’d switched on the light.

“Take it easy, doc,” he hissed, his aim focussed unwaveringly on Crocker. Ivy knew, if it came to it, he wouldn’t hesitate.

“Let’s just talk.” She tried to keep her voice light and calm but even she could hear the panicked edge creeping in. “About Earl.”

And he did talk. Rambling on and on about how _nobody dies_ and he only has _happy patients_. His voice crescendoed, a manic vibrato, snapping her attention back to him—and the pipe pistol—each time her eyes were inexorably drawn back to the body in the corner.

“My patients walk away happy with my work. Happy with their beautiful new faces.” He hissed and hummed and nodded encouragingly to himself. “Not _screaming_. Not bleeding out on the floor.”

A smile twitched at his lips—a horrible glimmer of recognition as he focussed back on Ivy.

“Oh yes, the beautiful bone structure...you should’ve come to see me.” Her blood ran to ice. “You wouldn’t scream, would you?”

She stared at the blood on the ground and the body in the corner and the man taking her face apart with his eyes. Her legs nearly gave out.

This so easily could have been her fate centuries ago if—when—Ryan finally went too far. God knows he had dealings with the kind of people who knew how to get rid of a body. How many times had she laid in hospital beds having come so close to being a mistake to be taken care of? And he was right. She wouldn’t have screamed. It only made things worse.

“Back the hell up, doc,” MacCready growled.

He’d moved up to her side, slowly trying to put a shoulder between her and Crocker—stopping each time the mantis-like goggles swung to fix on him.

“You made a mistake,” Ivy cried out desperately when the pipe pistol twitched to point at MacCready. Her heartbeat wasn’t a pulse anymore but a constant buzz that her lungs could barely keep up with. Her knees trembled, her stomach churned. She needed air. “You can still do the right thing…”

Whatever the hell that was supposed to be, because Crocker was long past making amends with Earl Sterling.

“You’re right…” Crocker hummed in his manic sing-song way.

He lowered the pistol and turned back to look sadly at Earl—MacCready finally took the opportunity to plant himself between Ivy and the doctor. For the first time since she’d set foot in the cellar she felt like she could breathe—it only lasted a moment.

“I know how to make it better,” Crocker sighed and grabbed a syringe from the blood stained table, ramming it into his arm. He collapsed to the floor, convulsing momentarily before stilling.

MacCready’s snide mutter about _“psycho”_ broke the silence. For all the bravado even he looked pale and nauseous.

“What is going on here?!” The cellar hatch slammed shut above Dr Sun, who stood wide-eyed at the base of the ladder.

“Use your eyes,” MacCready bristled. “Your buddy here was chopping up Earl Sterling—”

The room began to sway around her, or maybe that was just Ivy swaying as her head swam. Whatever it was, the idea of fainting, of laying on that floor like a third body waiting to be disposed of, was too much for her.

“I—I can’t be here.”

She ran.

* * *

Ivy rushed across the marketplace, past the dark back alleys and out towards the reservoir—hoping in vain that the night air could wash away everything she’d seen.

Even out here she couldn’t breathe.

All she could smell was the cellar—the putrid stench settled on everything. It was all over her. She needed to get the blood off her hands. To get out of the _damn_ suit.

Fingers shaking, Ivy clawed at her collar—desperately scrabbling and scratching to get the zipper loose, to get some air—clean air—into her lungs. But it wouldn’t budge.

Her staccato breaths, short and ragged, punctuated the silence until the edges of her vision began to blur. No air seemed to make it past her lips despite her heaving chest.

_She had to get it off._

MacCready’s warm hands closed over hers, pulling them away from her throat before she could draw blood.

“Angel, look at me. _Look at me_.”

He eased the zip down past her throat. Impatiently Ivy grabbed his wrist and yanked the zipper down to her sternum in one movement, gulping at the frigid air like she’d just emerged from depths of the ocean.

“Woah, slow down there.”

One of MacCready’s hands grabbed at her shoulder to steady her as the rush of oxygen sent her swaying, the other gently cupped her cheek, turning her face up towards his.

“Breathe in slow. Through your nose.” He counted to ten as Ivy took a wavering breath and held it. “And out through your mouth. Steady.” She barely took a word in, just stared into earnest blue eyes, inhaling when he did and letting the panic ebb away with each measured breath.

Before long MacCready’s counting settled into soft shushes as he pressed his forehead against Ivy’s—his hat tipped far enough back it teetered on falling to the ground. His fingers ran increasingly familiar trails through her hair, while her fingertips ran the seams of his duster—tracing old familiar paths of their own.

“I’ve got you.”

The world she’d blocked out started to leak back in—the bright stadium lights reflecting off the reservoir, the lows of brahmin in the paddocks across the water; the buzz of life within the streets behind them, which felt oddly distant from the crop fields where her racing legs had carried her.

Ivy let out a shaky breath and nodded, “God, that was _horrible_.”

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Valentine stood on the path a little ways behind them, his face lit by the glowing end of a cigarette—though even without it, his eyes would’ve glowed like yellow halos in the gloom.

The second he heard a noise MacCready had pushed himself between Ivy and the sound. He cursed under his breath when he realised it was just the old detective—his defensive posture slipped into an awkward shuffle under Valentine’s unwavering gaze. An embarrassed flush stained his cheeks. But not Ivy’s—she was still too out of it to worry too hard about how long Nick had been watching them.

“I gather I owe you two some caps.”

“How the heck—” Mac sputtered.

“I just got back from the old neighbourhood and ran into Dr Sun.” From the grim look on his face, Dr Sun had filled him in on enough. The old synth glanced past MacCready, his expression softening when his eyes met Ivy’s. “And I think I’ve got a bottle of scotch with your name on it.”

They followed Valentine back towards the maze of alleyways that housed the agency. MacCready stopped in the familiar pink glow of the sign, digging in his pockets to pull out his cigarettes. His fingers fumbled trying to pull the wrapper from the new pack. Ivy took it from him, unpeeling the thin plastic tab.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently, keenly aware of how close Nick was.

MacCready took the pack from her and leant back against the wall, fidgeting with the cigarette he extricated. He cast a wary glance in Valentine’s direction.

“I’m gonna get some air, everything still smells like— well you know. Can’t say I’m the biggest fan of seeing people pulled apart.” With a one-sided shrug he glanced towards the waiting detective again. “You gonna be ok?”

“Yeah.” Ivy smiled softly, catching Mac’s fingers with hers—and not giving a damn who saw. Twining their fingertips together, she backed after Valentine, keeping the contact until they stood at arm’s reach. “If I’m not out in 20 minutes come get me. I’ll have had too much scotch and fallen asleep.”

If she kept hold of him—asked him sweetly to come with her—she was pretty sure he would. But that would be cruel. As much as she wanted him close by her side, he needed to decompress from the night’s horrors too. With a softer smile she released him and disappeared into the agency.

Nick swung the door open and switched on the lights—Ellie had obviously headed out for the evening. The lights flickered to life, illuminating the office she’d first stepped into back in early November. Back when she hoped the hunt for Shaun Carroll might be a swift one.

“Do you mind if I wash up?” Ivy asked apologetically, showing her blood stained palms to the detective.

“No problem, it’s through the back.”

When she returned—never having been so thankful for clean hands—Valentine had pulled a bottle and a couple of tumblers out of a filing cabinet drawer. Ivy chuckled to herself at the cliche of the thing, but he wore it so well.

He slid her a glass with far more scotch than she knew she could handle—“to steady your nerves”.

“So, how long has _that_ been going on?”

At least he’d waited until she had a drink in her hands before the yellow glint of his eyes turned on her with the same knowing intensity her partner had been subjected to outside. The swift flick of amber lenses towards the door indicated—as if she could have missed it—that he was indeed referring to MacCready.

“How long has what been going on?”

“I hope you’re a better liar than that when it counts, doll.”

Valentine chuckled. It had been a poor attempt at a deflect. She was obviously off her game. He slid into Ellie’s unoccupied chair, unlocking the bottom draw to pull out the petty cash. Ivy sighed and gave the old detective a reluctant smile.

“Not long.”

“And how's that ex-Gunner treating you?” 

Valentine raised a plastic brow. Metal fingers gripped a fresh cigarette while ‘flesh’ ones flicked life into his lighter. He’d kept a wary eye on MacCready even when they sprang him from the vault—like the mercenary’s past affiliations were no secret to the old detective.

Ivy let out a startled laugh at his curiosity. “Did Piper put you up to this?”

It wasn’t like she’d ever considered herself as anything more than a case to him. Someone who pestered him for progress whenever she was in town. But Nick continued to watch her, not letting her slip the line of questioning, just taking the drag on his cigarette.

Ivy settled in the chair opposite, feeling a slight chill at the memory of the last time she’d sat there—being quizzed kindly, but unrelentingly thoroughly about what had happened in the vault.

“He treats me better than anyone I’ve known.”

That grain of truth at least seemed to pass the Valentine’s lie detector test—although the momentary twist of his lips seemed to indicate more that that was sad for than a glowing review of the mercenary.

“Well, I guess we can overlook some of his past indiscretions then.”

Ivy shot him a sour look. _She_ knew Mac still carried ‘his past indiscretions’ with him, even if nobody else seemed to see it.

Her glower seemed to tickle the old synth. In fact he arched a brow, a hint of amusement tugging at the worn corners of his mouth that he broke into a knowing smile.

“Gotta say I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

“Well they say hindsight’s 20/20.” Ivy shot back—startled by the sudden turn in the conversation—a smirk of her own curling her lips. She took a long sip of her scotch—and tried not to cough. “And I'll bet you’ve got telescopic lenses.”

“Less of the sass.” He slid a tin of caps across the desk to her. “Sorry things ended up the way they did for poor Earl. But thanks for your help on this one.”

Ivy smiled politely, not wanting to be ungracious, but 200 caps did not feel like compensation for the things she’d seen. For the memories that would no doubt linger long after she’d rid herself of the smell of that cellar… no matter how well she drowned them in scotch.

She took another long sip all the same, savouring the sting rather than choking on it this time.

“Hey Nick, is there such a thing as detective-client privilege?”

“What do you take me for, an old gossip?” he chuckled, breathing out a haze of cigarette smoke. “Don’t worry, as far as I’m concerned, what you and your mercenary do in your downtime is nobody’s business but your own. Just don’t tell Piper I said that.”

“They’re right about you,” Ivy teased. “You are good people.”

“Stop.”

* * *

Ivy was still filled with the warm buzz of the scotch on an empty stomach when they arrived back at the Dugout. Vadim’s holiday festivities were in full swing—the bar was packed, the air filled with voices and music blaring from radios set about the room.

The bartender had evidently bribed Travis to keep the music themed for the evening—the whole of Diamond City and beyond was enduring rounds of pre-war Christmas classics tonight. He also seemed to have persuaded everybody’s favourite DJ to talk a damn sight less than usual.

Ever able to bounce back, Vadim took the news of Earl’s death well—or at least after a heavy silence he loudly declared a toast to his friend and a round of drinks on the house. The catch being that the drink on offer was Vadim’s attempt at eggnog.

Ivy could only assume he’d heard the word somewhere and made no further attempt to look into it. The shot glasses presented to them held a curdled substance that she had the horrified inkling had been created by stirring raw egg into his latest vat of moonshine.

And from the colour, they weren’t chicken eggs.

MacCready stared at the shot, cocked his head to the side like some internal struggle was raging between the urge to drown that day in alcohol, and not wanting to put whatever that was anywhere near his mouth.

He sniffed, grabbed the glass off the bar and knocked it back—wheezing once he swallowed.

As always, Vadim’s laugh was almost deafening up close. “It lines the throat, doesn't it, my friend.” He leaned across the bar and slapped the shellshocked, swaying MacCready on the shoulder.

Ivy looked at her own drink. It looked back.

“No.” She looked up at Vadim’s grinning face. “Do you have anything that isn’t lumpy? I’m willing to pay to _not_ drink that.”

“For you, lapochka, of course.”

He pulled a bottle of ‘Bobrov’s Best’ off the back shelf—equally deadly but less likely to make her throw up straight away at least—and filled a glass.

“Bottoms up.”

“You heard the man.” MacCready pressed the drink into her hand, and with a distasteful sneer briefly catching his top lip, he grabbed the rejected eggnog.

“Oh tell me you’re not--”

“One, two...three.”

They knocked the drinks back. The moonshine burnt a trail down the back of her throat—while whatever went into the eggnog brought tears to Mac’s eyes from coughing.

“It’s good to see you two getting into the holiday spirit,” Vadim beamed, topping up their glasses. “No Piper tonight? You had such a good gossip last time you were here.”

Ivy shot Vadim a warning look. It turned into a glare when he brandished a bunch of the same hideous plastic mistletoe he’d been sticking about the place with the rest of the decorations. He waggled it—and his eyebrows—at her and MacCready.

“I’m very armed, Vadim,” she retorted dryly, trying to ignore the suspicious look her partner had set her with since the mention of gossip.

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Ivy pushed herself up on the bar, leaned forward and kissed Vadim on the cheek. “Merry Christmas. Now piss off.” His plan might not have worked, but Vadim laughed heartily all the same and finally went off to help Scarlett serve some other patrons.

“What was that about?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

It was impossible to hide the colour in her cheeks when Mac fixed her with those sharp eyes. From his growing smirk, she had a feeling Vadim had already spilled the beans on the girls’ rather loud conversation.

About half an hour later Ivy lost MacCready to the crowd when the eggnog decided to enact its revenge. Left to her own company, the throng of people began to grow overwhelming. She wandered the room, increasingly warm beer clutched in her hand, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces. Shoulders bumped hers. Eyes traced her head-to-toe—some sneering, some smirking. Drinks were offered. More often insults were overheard through the lulls in holly-jolly music.

It was one thing being an outsider with MacCready at her side. They could be different together. And he always shouldered most of the snark—and gave back double what he got. Alone it was different, and after the day they’d had, Ivy had no patience for it.

She decided it was time to sneak away. The urge to wash away the day with what passed for a shower around here, then to slip into a warm bed was infinitely more appealing than drifting like flotsam in this crowd.

* * *

Ivy stood, face upturned letting the lukewarm water soak over her—her eyes scrunched tightly shut as the last of her makeup streaked her cheeks and waterfalled down to the plughole. If she concentrated on the droplets hitting her face she could block out the images haunting her memories of the afternoon. She’d always had a skill for putting her mind elsewhere.

_“Fuck!”_

The water turned frigid as someone somewhere in Diamond City flushed a toilet. The Dugout Inn wasn’t exactly five star.

She swayed a little as she jostled under the stream, gooseflesh chasing the rivulets across her body. Thankfully she didn’t instantly turn back to ice—those shots of lethal moonshine provided more warmth than the shower ever could. 

God forbid the commonwealth’s largest settlement could have consistently hot running water for anyone below the stands, Ivy grumbled to herself. She bet Anne whatsherface had warm- _bloody_ -water.

The Dugout had thin walls. Even in the tiny tiled bathroom attached to their room she could hear the hum of conversation and strains of music. She let it wash over her like the water. Ivy remembered every line to these songs she’d never intended to learn, she’d just absorbed them through proximity.

Her Boston holiday seasons before the war had been spent working long shifts at a Drumlin Diner in the city. The days were filled with a steady cycle of lunchtime rushes—filled with hurried office workers and shoppers dashing out of the snow—and dead afternoons. All set to the constant strains of seasonal music played day after day.

The lines stole space from her memory that might once have held the ability to do complex equations, but now only remembered all the lyrics to ‘It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year’.

Rude that the songs still lingered now, even when other parts of her memory were slipping. Though she was never one to resist the acoustics of a shower, so she sang along anyway while she scrubbed what was hopefully the last of the stench of that cellar from her pores. Her high notes were punctuated by occasional curses as the water temperature punished her for her lengthy bathing.

Clean at last, Ivy hummed as she dried herself, her skin still speckled with goosebumps. The damp vault suit hung on the door behind her - it too scrubbed of lingering memories of the cellar.

“Looks like I won’t go to the ball tonight,” she tutted to herself with a smile. “Such a pity.”

Immaculate wings reapplied—she could go without many things but that defensive mask was not one of them—she stepped into some fresh underwear, slid on the oversized button-down she slept in and settled down on the end of the bed to brush the damp tangles out of her hair.

Eyes drifting closed as she brushed, she let her voice join the melody that drifted in from outside the room.

 _“Have yourself a merry little christmas, let your heart be light…”_ The irony wasn’t lost on her. _“From now on our troubles will be out of sight…”_

She hadn’t known what to expect from her first Christmas after the world ended, but this wasn’t it. With a heavy sigh she flopped back on the bed. “Now if everybody would shut up and go home, I could get some sleep.”

“Does that include me?”

Ivy yelped, her eyes flying open. MacCready stood smirking in the doorway, mostly smoked cigarette in hand, leaning like he always did when he came upon a scene he didn’t want to announce himself to just yet.

“My _god_ don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry.” He clicked the door shut behind him. “You know you should lock this.”

“You fancied sleeping in the hall tonight did you?” She slipped off the bed—her heart steadying back to a normal pace—and picked up the ashtray his eyes had been casting about for. “How’s that ‘nog treating you?”

“We decided it was best for everyone if we never saw each other again.”

“Well good, because I’m rather the jealous type.” Ivy batted her lashes, a coy smile playing on her lips as she pushed up on tiptoes to kiss him - at least she nearly did, until she remembered something that’d almost been lost to the stress of the day. “I’ve got something for you!”

“I—I thought you were about to give me something.” MacCready watched her bemusedly. The half-pout still lingered from where he thought he’d be kissed.

“Close your eyes.”

For once he did as he was told. Without arguing.

Ivy took his hands and led him towards the sofa. Carefully she negotiated the room’s sparse furniture, issuing quiet instructions to watch his shins— _“How can I? My eyes are closed.”_ —maneuvering him so his calves knocked back against the seat, depositing him with a startled huff.

“I think I’m going to like this already.”

“Calm down, sweet thing,” she teased, slapping away the quick hands that tried to grab and drag her down with him. “No peeking.”

In the top drawer of the dresser, sandwiched between two copies of Publick Occurrences and some scrounged cardboard to keep it flat, was the gift she’d been working on. Nights on watch—and just sleepless ones—she’d sketched and painted and delicately inked the pages she held in front of her.

The idea had struck her months ago, the first time Mac had buzzed excitedly about her freelance work at Hubris. He’d rambled about his comic collection and his favourites, and Ivy had fallen a little bit in love with his sheer enthusiasm. So she’d done her best to emulate the style of his favourite Grognak comics—it wasn’t her usual thing, but she’d turned out a reasonable adaptation if she did say so herself.

Ivy slid the paper into MacCready’s waiting hands.

“Ok, you can open them.” She watched his creased brow. His eyes skimmed the work like he was trying to put his finger on something. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Ivy chewed on her lip. “It’s just a couple of pages, silly I know but I thought you might get a kick out of them.”

“This… is this the library? With the super mutants?” MacCready’s eyes lit up when he looked at her. That same bright joy from months ago. “Is that me?” He smirked, pointing at the outline of a figure uttering a cartoon expletive at his hidden partner.

MacCready flipped the page. That smirk spread into a grin at the cartoon violence—how could she resist giving him a perfect headshot. His free hand made long strokes up the back of her leg.

“You made this for me?”

“No. I made it for my other mercenary but he didn’t like it.” Ivy giggled at the light tap on the back of her calf. She shrugged, a shy smile sliding into place when those blue eyes turned on her. “Told you I used to do comics.”

She lost him again to staring at the pages. Flipping between them, his fingers traced the lines. He was so wrapped up that he ignored her tossing his hat onto the dresser so she could run her fingers through his hair.

“You like it?” Ivy was pretty sure she knew the answer.

MacCready reverently placed the pages on the table—meticulously checking the surface was dry first. His hands finally free, he scooped an arm around her and pulled her down into his lap. Offering a kiss to answer her question.

Ivy hissed, distracted from MacCready’s sweet habit of paying a little extra attention to the new scar on her lip by the .308 rounds, this time digging into her inner thigh.

“I’m going to have so many bruises in the morning.” She pulled back grumbling. “All from your need to wear your spare ammo like a sexy garter.”

“You think it’s sexy?” MacCready grinned—nothing short of insufferably smug.

“I think _you_ think it’s sexy.”

Their night was definitely shaping up better than it started. Curled up in Mac’s lap, Ivy could ignore the world outside their room in favour of the warmth and safety—and indulgence—she had right here.

Before she got tempted into other forms of comfort, Ivy decided she’d best move. Shifting to one side, she slipped from Mac’s lap. Leaving one leg still draped across his knee, she curled, a little awkwardly, into his side so they could look at the comic pages he picked up again. MacCready kept an arm coiled around her, his thumb drawing lines on her side—whispering in her ear about all his favourite parts—the details punctuated by kisses to her temple. He liked everything.

With a soft sigh his hand slipped to breast pocket. An automatic habit she’d noted from him over and over, but this time instead of sadness he wore a small smile. When his hand slipped away, as it always did, Ivy took a gamble. Her fingers trailed across MacCready’s chest until her palm came to rest where his had been. She felt the steady movement of his chest stop as his breath caught. Something rested within a pocket that fit the hollow of her palm—a secret held close to the rhythmic pulse of his heart.

Ivy kissed the corner of his mouth, quickly chasing away the panic before it had a chance to gather in his eyes. Settling her head sleepily into the crook of his neck, Ivy looked back at the page held limply in his hand. Her fingers moved to fiddle with the buttons of his duster. 

Whatever it was, he’d tell her when he was ready.

MacCready sat silently for a moment, then lifted her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

“What happens next? Is it you trying to get us killed by laughing?”

Obvious relief at her lack of questions transformed his worried frown into a sly, if drowsy, smile. One filled with memories of those early days. Back when they hardly knew each other. Back when she could hardly have imagined this.

“I maintain that they could’ve had a treat for us.”

“Oh yeah, like what.”

“Maybe they had an original Grognak where Skullpocalypse and Mastadonald team up to fight him?” 

“Damn. Well we better get going.”

With a shriek of laughter from Ivy, MacCready tried to stand. One arm tucked tightly around her, he demonstrated his dancer-like agility again. The pair collapsed back onto the sofa in a pile, Ivy shaking with giggles.

“I think that eggnog is catching up with you.” Ivy chuckled quietly, her voice muffled somewhere under his shoulder.

“Of course it's not.” MacCready smirked, rolling off her. “There’ve always been two of you, right?”

Ivy shook her head indulgently, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to that irresistible smirk. 

“How about we just stay here, hmm? Save the fighting for when your cat-like agility is back on form.”

MacCready’s attempt at a sulky pout—the result of Ivy’s teasing—faded as soon as she draped her legs back over his lap and snuggled up to his side, reclaiming her spot on his shoulder as a pillow. He leaned over and bumped his nose against hers.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I fell off a roof and got stuck in a tree?” he whispered conspiratorially. Ivy giggled quietly, half listening to the story, half feeling the pleasant rumble of MacCready’s words against her chest.

Her head nodded, jolting her awake.

“I was just resting my eyes…”

“Sure you were, angel,” MacCready murmured in her ear.

They weren’t curled up on the sofa anymore, Ivy was draped in his arms as he carried her across the room to bed. She’d obviously been resting her eyes a little longer than she realised.

Ivy huffed her frustration at drifting off. “What were you saying before?” She looked up apologetically.

“It doesn’t matter,” he grinned, glancing side long at her as he negotiated the coffee table between them and the bed. “I can bore you to sleep again in the morning.”

“You didn’t bore me to sleep,” she whined pitifully.

“No, it’s fine. I _love_ having one-sided conversations.”

She shifted to grip him a little tighter as he leant forward to lay her down, not wanting to let go.

Looking over at him through dark lashes—eyelids weighed heavy by sleep—Ivy drowsily murmured a question in MacCready’s ear before he could stand back up—one that if she'd been more awake she might’ve been too shy to ask.

“Bobby, will you stay with me?”

He gave her a sweet surprised look—brows forming a questioning arch but hope tugging at the corners of his lips. There was nothing sweeter than that look he got whenever he was reminded that she cared for him.

“Sure,” MacCready smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this or want some more Mac and Ivy in your life, pop over and hi on tumblr. My fallout blog is @third-rail-vip That's where I post all of my art, asks, screenshots and videos as well as links to these fics.
> 
> It's been a long time since I wrote something a little darker but I hope you still enjoyed the ride, and that the new relationship fluff balanced it out. I actually played this quest for the first time on in-game Christmas, so naturally I thought god that's awful, I must make it canon!
> 
> As promised: Cellar summary - Who done it?! It was Doc Crocker in the cellar after too much jet! Earl Sterling died under the knife and was being disposed of by Doc Crocker when he was caught.
> 
> I'm sorry toaster dad! I did you dirty XD I have never written Valentine before and he hard so please be kind, one day I will be better, but for now do me a favour and just imagine it in his voice XD
> 
> Oh and I gave the dugout en suites in some rooms. Because I have a permit. 
> 
> I'm not sure when exactly my next update will be because I'm possibly writing something I haven't tried before for the next fic, but we'll see how that goes. Thank you again for reading <3


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